Hit the Nail On the Head
by Apple Senorita
Summary: What if Connor's rediscovery of Angel in season 5 went less smoothly? I.e. Spike got involved. Dont ask why I wrote it...timeline is different but...deal
1. Chapter 1

"Spike hit the nail on the head,"

Spike looked up, cheering up, "I did?"

He thought he was in Angel's office to get into trouble for breaking that stupid whirring grey piece of machinery he was meant to be fixing. Not, as it now seemed, to be praised for having the right idea.

"Yeah, you idiot," Gunn snapped, "How many times did Wes and I have to tell you? You _don't_ hit a Bazer nail like that. You're not supposed to hit it on it's head, or it'll jam down into the machinery, and crush it! Hitting the nail on the head," he scoffed.  
Spike scowled and sunk lower in his chair. Ok, maybe he was here to be told off about breaking that stupid whirring grey piece of machinery he was meant to be fixing. Angel stared at the younger vampire in a chair across the desk from him. He rubbed his eyes, "Spike, that was a valuable piece of equipment. And the Bazer nail was a gift to use from the Bazer race of demons a year ago!"  
"How the hell was I supposed to know not to hit the nail on the head!"  
"Angel I told him, _twice_!" Gunn persisted. The swelling argument was suddenly quelled by Wesley's appearance at the door.  
"We've got a situation. On the first floor,"  
"What kind of situation?"  
"An ambulance-required situation," Wesley hissed, "Someone in the lobby has passed out. I think he hit his head pretty badly," he beckoned with his hand. Spike grinned as the team disappeared.

'I'm off the hook for now,' he mused happily. He leapt over the desk and sat in Angel's chair, the warm leather just reeking of his grand-sire. He kicked his legs up onto the desk and swung the chair. But eventually he got bored. He let his legs drop to the floor and put his elbows on his knees, looking about the silent office.

"Hm…lets see what Angel's got in his drawer of secrets…"

* * *

Angel did a double-take the minute he left the lift. The person passed out in the lobby was probably the last person he had suspected. How was this happening? It was just too unbelievable that the Reilly family were in the lobby. And just too painful to see his son passed out on the lobby floor. He paused a moment to compose himself then crossed the hushed lobby, and pulling Mrs Reilly gently away from Connor. He watched silently as Wesley and Gunn did a quick check on the boy. Why was his son shaking so badly? Angel couldn't look the Reilly's in the eye.  
"Alright, has anyone called an ambulance?" Gunn called, levelling out his hands to calm Mr and Mrs Reilly. Fred waved a hand and pointed at Harmony on the phone.

"Good. Now come on, lets get him on a sofa. Closest one's in the printing office,"  
Spike, annoying, speared on Angel's right.

"Peaches,"  
"What?" Angel replied on autopilot, hurrying after Gunn and Wesley. Spike too a quickly glance at the boy then back at Angel, studying the vampire's face.

"What is it, Spike!" Angel repeated, pushing Spike away as he nearly ran into him.

"Why do you have a picture of that Reilly kid in your desk?"  
Angel stopped, then leant very close to Spike and said in a low tone, "Go away, Spike,"  
Spike rolled his eyes, "Fine. Moody-arse,"

"'Go away Spike!' 'Haven't you gone yet Spike?' 'Why are you still here Spike?'" Spike flung his arms about as he impersonated his 'colleagues', slouching down the corridor, "They're all so bloody ungrateful! I mean, I only saved the sodding world, didn't I!"

The lobby had pretty much returned to normal about five minutes ago. One paramedic was out there talking to Mr and Mrs Reilly, trying to calm their fears. Spike figured that the other was in the printing office with the boy. Spike sauntered on down further away from the voices, quite enjoying not being lectured for breaking something. He passed the printing office completely unaware he was doing so, until he heard someone stretched out on the sofa waking up. He stopped and peered in. Angel and Wesley were talking in low voices across the other side of the long, dimly lit room. Interest piqued, Spike slid in up to the old leather sofa. Connor lay flat out on the leather, a paramedic taking his blood pressure crouched next to him. Spike bent over him, ignoring the medic. There was something about this boy. He had felt it ever since he saw the picture of this Connor Reilly in Angel's desk.

"Hello," the boy had his eyes open, "Whoa," he breathed, the sensations of being spun too fast reeling around in his head. Spike couldn't take his eyes of the kid. There was something…what was it? Something Spike couldn't quite put his finger on about the boy. The paramedic had to elbow Spike's knees to get him to move out of the way.

"Hello Connor," he said quietly, giving Spike another shove to move over, "You passed out,"

"I did?" Connor groaned. He put a hand over his eyes, "Great,"

"You're blood pressure's quite high. And you were shaking badly. We're going to take you to the hospital, just to check out that bump on your head and to make sure it wasn't something like an epileptic fit, OK?"  
Connor wasn't really listening. He had his eyebrow quirked at the peroxide-haired, eerily pale guy looking him intently up and down.

"Hello?"  
Spike looked up briefly and raised a hand absent-mindedly, "Hi," he mumbled. He dropped his hand and went back to staring at Connor, unabated.

"Can I help you?" Connor asked over the crackle of the paramedic talking into his shoulder walkie-talkie.

"Sorry," Spike muttered after a while, "You just…" he cocked his head, "Remind me of someone,"  
Connor raised his eyebrows, "O…kay then,"  
"Hey," Angel shot across the room as Connor began to get up, "Hey, is he OK? Are you alright?"

'Not too eager Angel. Remember, he's just a kid who passed out in your company's lobby…he's my son,'

As he levelled with his son he noticed the mark on his temple where he had hit the floor had gone. His stomach did a mini-somersault.  
Connor nodded in response to his question, getting a little freaked out at the blonde man's persistence at staring at him, "He'll be OK we think Mr Angel. The hospital will give you a phone call if you like, when they find out anything,"  
"Yeah, sure, thank you,"  
Angel handed over a business card and watched Connor leave the room. Spike was staring after him.

"Could you just not annoy me, for just _two_ minutes,"

"I didn't say anything!" Spike protested. Angel glared.

"Come on Angel we've got work to do," Wesley ushered, putting a hand on the vampire's broad shoulder, and steering him to the door.

"We need to fix that Grader machine, for a start," Wesley sighed as the three made their way back upstairs. Angel tried to catch a glimpse of the ambulance leaving but Gunn joining them blocked his sight

"It wasn't my bloody fault!" Spike insisted, stabbing the button for the eighteenth floor.

"You can't hit a Bazer nail on the head!" Wesley lectured, "You have to tap it delicately on it's side, so that the energy stored can be transferred by bouncing off the inner walls down to the tip,"

Angel groaned inwardly. How could this happen? What were the Reilly's doing in his lobby anyway? And what was wrong with Connor?

"Spike doesn't do anything delicately," Gunn pointed out.

Spike scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Oh boo hoo. That's a bullet in the foot for my ballet career then isn't it?"

* * *

When Angel the Spike's room, Spike was singing. Spike singing was never a good thing. Particularly accompanied with that little sideways head-banging thing he did. His music blasted out from the CD player, so Angel thumped the thing off.

"Oi! I was listening to that you great big ponce!" Spike cried from his desk. He lifted up the remote and switched it back on. Angel yanked the socket from the wall. Spike raised his eyes to heaven.

"I don't have a car to enjoy my music in anymore, Peaches, you're gonna have to start being nicer to me,"  
Angel gripped the wire in his hand, "What were you doing in my drawer Spike?"  
Spike paused, "Oh that!" he laughed, his expression changing to an amused smirk.

"Yes. That. I don't remember saying you could do that. Ever,"  
"Well we have known each other for nearly 200 years now. Maybe you said I was free to go through your personals without having to ask one time and you just-" Spike stopped, "Why do you have a picture of that kid in your drawer?"

"Why don't I just stake you now?"

Spike smiled wanly, ignoring Angel's threat, "I wasn't aware you'd met the Reilly's before,"  
"I didn't come here to answer your questions. I came here to tell you if you go anywhere near my stuff again I will personally rip your hands from your wrists,"  
"Point taken," Spike sighed, "Now put my bloody music back on,"

Angel let go of the wire and let it hit the floor. He turned and left the room. He knew it was best not to tell Spike he'd better not open his mouth. Too many threats in a short space of time and they all started to go in through one ear and out the other. After years of travelling with Spike, and also having the displeasure of teaching him, Angel had learnt that a long time ago. Also, if he told Spike not too, Spike would probably just go and do it anyway.

* * *

"You got hit by a van?"  
"Yeah,"  
"And you were OK?"  
"Yeah,"  
"How is that a bad thing?"

"I don't know. My parents are acting like it's the end of the world,"  
"Bloody hypocritical that is,"

"What is?"  
"Well, complaining to Angel that you were Ok when you got run over by a truck. If you hadn't been OK they probably would have tried to start a campaign to make all trucks out of foam,"  
Connor laughed, "Sounds like my parents,"  
Spike swivelled around in Angel's chair, letting a finger lingering on his chin in a way he'd seen models posing in old portraits when they were trying to look wise.

"Look…you're not Mr Angel, are you?"

Spike raised his eyebrows and dropped his legs to the floor, so that he was at eye-level with Connor Reilly who sat a little awkwardly at the other side of the desk.

"No,"  
"_You_ were the guy who was staring at me when I pass out,"  
"Um…yes,"  
"Why was that again?"

Spike thought about it for a moment, letting the cogs and wheels tick and turn and wind, "No reason," he eventually said. He went for a cigarette and his lighter.

"So, Mr and Mrs Reilly your parents,"  
"Yes," Connor said, slowly, wandering why Mr Angel hadn't arrived yet.

"Oh. So…not adopted or anything, are you?"  
"What? No. 'Course I'm not adopted,"  
"Good. Good 'cos…that'd be…I dunno…bad,"

Spike lit up and took a drag.

Connor shuffled a little on his seat. To be honest he'd hoped that he'd have the courage to tell someone in authority about the nightmares he'd been having. He should have seen it as a premonition when he refused to tell the doctor anything about them last week. Connor just wasn't comfortable talking about them. Their vividness and wildness made Connor feel incredibly shaken and uneasy. _Talking_ about them would be just as bad as having them. And were they really connected to the freak van accident? Or had he just started eating something recently that gave him nightmares? He began to muse whether he'd eaten more apples late at night recently, when Spike interrupted him.

"You seen Mr Big Boss before then?"  
"What? Who?"  
"Angel,"  
"Oh, no. My parents have talked to him before I think,"

Spike was hungry for more information - for a reason not known to him - but he was interrupted by the door banging open.  
"Spike," Harmony hissed, standing in the doorway with a notebook clutched to her chest, "You were meant to be downstairs and…out of the way - an _hour_ ago. Angel will be up here any minute!"  
"Let the big poofter do his worse," Spike said, waving the cigarette around in the air. If he had been on his own he probably would have swaggered off by now to go and find somewhere private to go through Angel's music collection, but he wanted to save face in front of the kid. Why he wanted to do so…Spike had no idea.

"You'd better get out of his chair," Connor said, a smirk in his voice, cocking his head to one side. Recognition flooded in on Spike so fast it nearly bowled him over. He pushed the cigarette out and blew out heavily, smoke streaming from him.

"Wow. That….that's pretty freaky,"

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

"Now, have you had any dizziness or nausea when you got back from the hospital?"

"No,"

Connor reached a hand around the back of his head and touched gently the bruise that had formed from the impact of his head on the floor. A lump had been steadily growing, and it felt like pummelled fruit under his fingers. The doctor looked up from his file and gave a small smile, "I wouldn't prod that if I were you. You might make it ten times bigger,"  
"It itches," Connor said, scratching the skin around it in compensation.

"Don't scratch," his mother said quickly, rearranging her hands that were clasped tightly on top of her knees.

"It itches!" Connor persisted, but eventually clamping his hands underneath his legs to keep his Mum happy. The doctor watched, amused, as he finished off the last of Connor's notes, "Just try and keep from touching it for a while, and it should heal as quick as anything. And with that…" he snapped the clipboard shut and gave the pair of them a warm smile, "I think we can safely discharge you. If there are _any_ more problems, then please contact us again. Head injuries are a thing to be cautious of,"  
"Yes, we will. Thank you Doctor,"

* * *

Connor put his hand on the back door of his Dad's Sedan and pulled it open jerkily. He had less strength than he cared to admit; he hadn't slept that night and had laid out on his bed staring at his ceiling. Thinking. Across the car park he spied a white van parked up across from the hospital. He wondered if he got hit again he'd be so lucky.

"Connor? Connor honey get in, you're letting the cold air in,"

He answered his Dad's questions monosyllabically, letting his mother field the more complicated ones, such as why he had passed out in the first place.

"Low blood sugar levels? So what did he suggest?"

He let them talk, their voices washing over him as he was jostled around in the back. He couldn't seem to concentrate on anything anymore; places and people and words were hard to absorb, and they cluttered the back of his mind where he had to pick them up later to make sense of what was going on around him. They stopped jerkily at the traffic lights, and as his Dad wrenched at the handbrake and tried not to swear at the roadworks, Connor watched the traffic whiz past on the lane going the other way. He watched them carefully, guessing their speed at about 50mph. How had he been hit by something that fast, and not come out of it with at least one injury. Eventually the blurs of blue and green and silver and red made him feel sick, their speed seemed to fast to deal with, and he sunk lower in his seat.

* * *

Spike blew smoke rings pensively, frowning through the haze of grey in front of him out onto the city of LA. To be honest, he had thought that LA would start to get on his nerves a little. But actually, he found solace in it's darkness, and in the life that - even through the thick black of LA - managed to shine through. He knew he should be sickened with himself for thinking like that, because that wasn't Spike. That wasn't William the Bloody who ripped people's jugulars from their quivering throats. This was ensouled Spike. This was enslaved Spike. He blew out more smoke and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. On top of this new found glory that he was having to put up with, there was something about Angel's personal life that was bothering him. Angel had been brooding (more than usual) around the offices like a hunk of black cloud in an expensive suit. And although usually that wouldn't bother Spike in the slightest, the whole Connor Reilly thing was starting to get to him. When he'd had that revelation when talking to the boy not long ago; Spike had actually believed, for a moment, that this random kid who supposedly neither Angel nor Wolfram & Hart had never encountered before …was actually incredibly similar to his grand-sire.

Chewing on his lip, Spike hauled himself up from his chair and skulked the corridors for a while. He kept his eyes out for demons lurking the corridors. No visiting demon had ever taken a shine to Spike as yet.

But once again he found his thoughts coming back to Connor. When he had tilted his head, and surveying Spike with that slightly arrogant and domineering smirk hidden behind the laugh of a joke - with his eyes dark and light all at the same time - he had looked identical to Angel. Or maybe even Angelus.

"Hey, Spike!"

"What?" he asked, grouchily, as Gunn rounded the corner, "I haven't destroyed another precious nail have I?"  
"No, but you've caused a lot of fuss over the other one. I needed to ask you about something,"  
"Oh. Really?"  
"Yes," Gunn said barring his teeth a little to challenge Spike to dare say anything about _him_ asking _Spike_ for help.

"I wanted to know if you'd heard anything about the kid who passed out in the lobby yesterday. Angel never said,"  
"Why are you bothered?"

"He was a potential client, Spike. And…well, he was just a kid,"

"No. I didn't. Brooding idiot's not opened his mouth for hours,"  
"Well can you ask him for me?"

* * *

Angel watched the inky sky seep down into the tiniest pores of Los Angeles, bathing the city. The lights of the City of Angels flickered and burnt.

"Hey Angel,"

He swung his chair around to face the door. Wesley was stood in the doorway, one hand on the door. His old friend gave him a smile. He was carrying the last few files of the official working day in his hands, his top two buttons undone and his hair just a little bit dishevelled. He smiled, his eyes light from behind his dark-rimmed glasses.

"I've got the files you wanted. Sorry I ran off with them, I was just looking up some more on those Inseca demons,"  
"It's fine Wes,"  
Wes nodded and moved forward, sliding the plain cardboard files onto Angel's deep mahogany desk. He glanced at the night-sky behind Angel.

"Thinking?"

Angel gave a small smile, "Yeah,"

"Well, the unofficial working day starts right about now. See you soon,"

Wes gave another nod and left, easing the door shut behind him. Angel swung back towards the lit up Los Angeles. The only light in the room was the one on his desk, bathing the surface with white light. He put his chin in his hand and let out a long breath. He felt so _old_ sometimes.

* * *

Connor sat at his desk, staring unseeingly at the book laying spread out at the middle page in front of him. He tapped his pen against his desk. An head popped around the door, the brown bob of hair shining from the landing light. His mother knocked gently on his partially open door as she slid in.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, quietly. Connor looked up, "Hey Mom,"  
"Sorry, was I interrupting studying? Because you looked a little distant from here,"

"Yeah I was just…thinking,"

"Well…I suppose now is the best time to be thinking. You're going to go to college…to travel…to see the world and meet new people. This is probably the best time to start thinking, you know, deeply,"  
Connor gave a small laugh, "Well I was just thinking about whether I could get away with sleeping in the clothes I'm wearing now, Mom, but I guess you're right,"  
Mrs Reilly shook her head, rolling her eyes, "Boys. You're a lot like your Dad, you know,"  
"Yeah," Connor said slowly, nodding his head.  
"Anyway, Connor, I wanted to talk to you,"  
Mrs Reilly slid over to Connor's dark blue sheeted bed and folded her hands on her lap. Connor gave a small frown and went over.

"Connor…last night, I don't know if you remember, but you didn't sleep very well,"

Connor blinked, "No. I don't remember. Didn't I?"  
"No. At first it just sounded like another bad dream. But you were shouting and crying out. I was just about to come and see you but then you calmed down. A few minutes later we heard you walking around downstairs. I went down and you were curled up in the armchair,"  
"I was sleep walking?"  
"No. No Connor you were awake. You were curled up in the armchair close to the door sort of…talking to yourself. You looked _ill_. I was just…I was just a bit worried. After hitting your head and everything…I wondered if you were alright,"  
"Well I was sleep walking then, wasn't I?" Connor laughed, a little edgy, "I mean I don't talk to myself normally. I was asleep-"  
"No, Connor, you weren't," Mrs Reilly said, suddenly very forceful. She looked him straight in the eye, "Is there something bothering you? Is it college?"  
"What was I talking about?"  
Mrs Reilly paused, then fluttered her hands as if shooing the question away, "Oh I don't remember, you were babbling a little. It was just…it was sort of worrying. Your Dad told me I should tell you,"  
"I don't remember anything," Connor said, evenly, then gave his Mum a small smile, "It's nothing Mom,"

"Ok…Ok,"

Mrs Reilly stood up and left quickly. Connor turned to look at the notebook on his desk. He stood up and picked up his pen again, seating himself back down on his desk chair. He paused, biting his lip. He began to shade in the shadows on the stake he had been drawing in the margin. He clutched the pen and shook his head, "Sleep walking. Sleep walking,"

He dug his pen into the tip of the stake and dragged it down. He grabbed his thick black marker and scribbled over his little doodle. Just sleep walking.

* * *

"Is the Mighty Poof regarding all that is his?" Spike enquired, sitting down next to Angel and lighting a cigarette.

"None of your business Spike," Angel muttered, not looking up.  
"Hm. 'Cos I hear you've been sat here for about twenty four hours now. Not that I care, but I thought watched you slowly turn to stone would be good fun,"  
"Go away Spike,"  
"Yeah, alright, fine," Spike grumbled, but didn't move. He quirked his scarred eyebrow at the white paper littering the floor beneath their feet, "You been having a paper problem here mate? Those pesky sheets from the photocopier getting brave and trying to nibble at the carpets? Chew the wiring? Eat the lampshades?…" Spike paused, gauging Angel's awareness of what was being said, "Ride the camels?"  
Angel blinked and looked up.  
"What?"  
"The paper,"  
Angel looked down at his feet. He grunted and kicked a screwed up piece of paper away. He looked down at the pad and pencil in his hands. An eerily beautiful, thin face stared up at him from the paper. He put the lead to the figure's eyes and shaded them in lightly. He wished he had a sky blue colour on hand, just so he could colour her eyes. Darla's light blue eyes. Just so he could get a literal idea of what it would be like to stare into them. He flipped the paper over again and watched the eyes of the second figure look back at him. The eyes were the same shape, and he itched again for a blue pencil. Connor's eyes were exactly the same blue as his mother's. Angel breathed out a long, drawn breath, then picked up his regular pencil and finished off the hair.

Spike, sitting next to him, blew smoke rings onto the glass in front of them. He got the feeling Angel had completely forgotten he was there. He stood up and stretched, "Well, can't stand around here all day. Got things to be doing. Like getting my head bashed in by every demon that walks in here," he paused to see if that would warrant a comment….

No, obviously not.

Deciding to give on up asking the question about the kid, he tucked his cigarettes away and left the room.

Angel tapped his pencil tip against the paper. After a moment's pause he ripped the picture of Darla and screwed it up onto the floor. He didn't want to look at it. And that hurt too much. He ripped out the picture of Connor, scrunched it into his fist and threw it at the glass. He couldn't get it right. And that hurt too.

* * *

Thanks for the reivews guys. This really is about Connor finding out about his real self in a DIFFERNT way, involving Spike a lot even though there may be timeline problems and differences etc. So just go with the flow and I hope you'll enjoy it.


End file.
